HD 'Ridiculously Romantic'
by tigersilver
Summary: Gift to vaysh11. For some reason I felt 'A Little Insecure', my dracotops harry Fest submission for this year, required a spot of follow-up. And also damned and blasted bloody Draco kept yammering on in my mind about how he never actually was able to lay hands upon his Harry, on screen, real time, and why was that, oh, Stupid Arse Author? Rectify it! Draco said to me. Immediately!


HD 'Ridiculously Romantic'

* * *

Wooing a Wizard was a tricky business; Draco took to it like a duck to water.

"For you, Potter," he murmured, and handed over his posy, carefully selected from the barrows of the old Witch who sold her wares daily at the intersection of Diagon and Diametric. "Careful of the pollen, please. You don't want your nose turning yellow."

Potter inhaled deeply anyway, just as Draco knew he would, burying his face in the flowers.

Draco sighed at him when he emerged, blinking up at Draco, looking vastly pleased with life in general, a little bemused and quite expansively dotted about the cheeks and nostrils with deep amber-gold smudges. "Oh, you wanker. Here, allow me."

A quick flick of his wand and an affection-filled rub of a thumb across that cleft chin and determined nose had Potter pristine again. Draco followed up the tidying with a brief buss to Potter's up-curving lips; this was the part he enjoyed most, the minding of Potter, and the smiles and brilliant eyes that minding of his created.

"Thank you, Draco," Potter said, and carefully went about the small business of preserving his bouquet and shrinking it to tuck away in a hidden pocket. "I love them. Er—shall we?"

"Yes, indeed," Draco replied instantly and took up Potter's arm to escort him. He wrapped his long fingers about the flicker of pulse point at Potter's thin wrist, enjoying the feel of knobby bone beneath warm skin. "We've a reservation."

"Oh, brilliant," Potter replied, as they fell into step. "Where to, though? You never said?"

"Quercus, that new place everyone's raving over. You know it?"

"Draco!" Potter halted abruptly, as if struck. "You didn't! The cost of a meal there is positively ruinous!"

"Oh…" Draco grinned down at Potter smugly, and took the chance to slip his other arm about Potter's waist. "But yes. I did. I would do it again, too."

He noted out of the corner of his eye they were quite close by the turn into Grammatic; a perfectly fine location to nip round a dim corner and indulge in a little snogging, along the way. They had a few minutes to spare yet, didn't they?

"I know you do fancy a spot of the Aegean cuisine every now and again, Harry," he added. "And this Quercus is supposed to be best at it in the City, so why wouldn't I take you there? You certainly deserve it."

"Oh! Well…." Potter hesitated for the space of a surprised blink or three, and then absentmindedly gave way when Draco set the flat of a palm to the small of his back and pushed. "Really?"

They were in the dimmer recesses of Grammatic's narrow wayfare with but three short strides, and Draco had Potter ever so gently shoved up against the rough brickwork of a convenient shop wall, a palm cupped at his nape to cushion his head. "But you don't need to, Draco," Potter protested gently, meeting Draco's intent stare with a lovely earnestness. "I'm perfectly all right with the Leaky, you know."

"I don't need to, no. But I _do_," Draco murmured, and set his pursed lips to Potter's. "Want to." They were as sweet as always, moist and warm. "I want to, and I will, if it's for you, if it pleases you. Hmmm…kiss me? If you want to reward me, that is. I wouldn't say no to a little appreciation, my love."

He felt Potter's smile, fleeting but welcome, and the inviting wet of a questing tongue poking at his own teasing grin.

"Mm," Potter hummed, and set his hands on Draco's chest and shoulder, drawing him closer. "Please, yes—always."

'Always' was it, for certain. Draco always took any chance offered to kiss Potter. And though he enjoyed minding after Potter ever so much, perhaps this was even more to his liking, the taste and touch of him. It was terribly difficult not to simply smash Potter up against the wall and strip them both bare, to not have his wicked way with that lovely arse and hardening cock as Draco so wished to do, but there was luncheon yet, awaiting. And Draco wanted to present Potter with his special meal, and pamper and ply him with every delicious morsel available, preferably at the most expensive restaurant in Town.

Potter was smiling again, licking his swollen lips; when his stomach rumbled, it had both he and Draco laughing. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, and tucked his head under Draco's chin, flushing. "I think I am rather hungry, actually."

"I know you are, Harry." Draco pulled back with a terrible reluctance; how he hated leaving Potter go when he'd such a good hold him, what? But Potter's trim belly needed yet to be satisfied. And they'd need the stores of energy for later, hopefully. "So let's get on, and we'll revisit this moment later?"

"Please," Potter replied, and fumbled for Draco's hand. He took it up, entwining their knuckles, and glanced up to meet Draco's gaze. "I'd like that, very much." He gave their clasped hands a little shake, arching an eyebrow inquisitively. "Um…should we maybe just apparate now? I don't know if we're late—"

"They'll hold the table, don't fret," Draco was swift to reassure him. "And I rather fancy the stroll with you more, Harry. I never have nearly enough chances to show you off, you know? Don't want to miss one if I don't have to."

He tilted his head at Potter, enquiring. For he honestly did love to show the world Potter was his to make much of, and Diagon on a school weekend out was much the best of places to do so.

"Please? Indulge me."

Potter giggled, abashed and blushing, but made no objection to being steered back to the main thoroughfare.

"You are much too good at this, Draco," he went on, leaning into Draco's encircling arm. "I should take lessons, really I should do. I know I'd've mucked up this dating lark ages ago if it weren't for you. We'd probably not have made it past the first outing, not if it were me in charge. Ginny always did say I was socially backwards."

"No!"

Draco was shocked; no—appalled, rather. He drew Potter against him as tight as possible, and bent his head down protectively, barely noticing the drifts of their fellow Witches and Wizards parting about them and moving along.

"No, Harry. You are not backwards, not at all," he informed Potter fiercely. "They were cruel to you, is all, those Muggles of yours. Never loved you, the fools. And when did you ever have a chance to learn your way about dating at Hogwarts, may I just ask? Had a bad enough time staying alive, yeah? So it's hardly your fault if no one's ever had the decent sense to show you how very much you mean to them, how important you are. I'm just glad it's me who's the lucky prat you've chosen. And I'll show you every day, whenever I can, any way and every way, I promise."

"Oh…Draco?" Potter gulped and pressed a cheekbone into Draco's neck. "Draco…"

"But—just come here, Harry; let me!"

Draco wasn't too fond of displays of affection in public; it was a bit distasteful, in his view. But wiping that look off Potter's face took precedence over any sort of squeamishness, and he didn't care, either, what it took to do it. So he thrust two fingers under that hiding chin and dragged it upwards, and kissed him, deep and with a whole lot of teeth and tongue, and Potter groaned into the pressure of Draco's mouth and allowed it. And if Draco could've managed to haul Potter into the safety of his own heaving ribcage, he'd have done so.

"Oh, Harry," he whispered into Potter's ear at long last, his chest burning beneath his robes, and his eyelids drowsy with all the words swirling round his head, the ones he wanted to say to Harry. It made no matter there was a little knot of young Witches giggling at them as they made their way by; it mattered not a jot if the whole street should stop to stare at them, either. "My sweet Harry. Don't ever think you're not worth my every second, every thought, every Galleon. Don't ever."

"Draco!" Harry gasped, gaping up at Draco, and his eyes were dampish and dazzling behind his specs. "Merlin, Draco, you're always so—so!"

"In love with you?" Draco answered promptly, twirling them about to face in the proper direction. "Fucking right well I am, Harry, and I'll shout it out to everyone around if you don't believe me, all right? Now, come along with me. They'll hold our table for a little while more, but not forever, and much as I love those gorgeous bones of yours, I really would like to see a little more meat on them."

The meal was perfect. Perfectly presented. Perfectly proportioned, perfectly delicious and Draco spent all of it grinning openly at Harry, who consumed his hummus and grilled lamb at a reasonably paced gobble.

"Good, eh? You liked it?" he asked, when the dessert selection had been made and their server had whisked away again to fetch it along. He topped up Potter's wine and slipped his other hand in his pocket. "I hope so."

"Umm, yes, rather," Harry sighed, and sat back to grin widely at Draco, patting his belly. "That was smashing, actually. Thank you."

"No thanks needed, Harry. My pleasure," Draco replied. "Ah…"

He paused for an instant, his hidden fingertips curling about the little packet in his pocket. It might be too soon, but he'd wanted to give this to Potter from the very second he'd caught sight of it, glittering in the jeweler's shop window in Hogsmeade.

"I, um...Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Do you—er, would you? Mind terribly if I gave you a little present?"

"A present?" Puzzled eyebrows came closer as Potter sat abruptly upright. "Me?" He thrust a hand out and planted the palm of it on the table; Draco instantly covered it with his own. "You mean a gift—for me?"

"Mmm," Draco hummed, his gaze cast down at the surface of the crumb-strew table cloth. He prayed the server would take his own good time, bringing back their puddings. He'd pay dearly for a moment more of privacy. "It's not much, just a little something, but I'd like to…that is, I really wanted you to have it."

It truly wasn't much, just a trifling thing, but he'd had their initials engraved on the inside of it, and the date when Harry had first allowed Draco to kiss him, and a tiny inscribed heart, as well, pierced through with a minutely rendered broomstick arrow.

"Really?" Harry seemed surprised, still. "For me?"

A circlet, silvery, thin and magically strong, meant for Harry's wrist, if he would consent to wear it—and also as something tangible, so Draco's heart might rest a little easier. Wooing was a tricky business, after all, and Draco took absolutely nothing for granted.

"Well?" Potter was laughing a little, his cheeks gone all pink, and he'd taken his hand away, leaning forward to punch Draco on the arm, just lightly, demanding his attention. "Right, where is it, this gift? Not that you ever should of, Draco, but sure, yes. I'll accept it; of course I will, if it's from you. And I happen to love gifts, actually. Never had all that many, growing up. S'pretty special, having one given me now. Not even Christmas."

"I know," Draco scowled, his face clouding up like a thunderstorm. "I know, and that lack will be rectified, believe me. But, yes. Here."

It wasn't particularly graceful, the way he shoved the little box across the cloth toward Harry's hand, but then again Draco's blood was beating in his ears and he felt a little dizzy, suddenly.

"Open it? Please, Harry."

"Oh!" Potter exclaimed, poking at the box with the same fingertip he'd jabbed at Draco with. "Is it…it's jewelry, Draco?"

"Yes," Draco replied tightly, and all his qualms returned, anew. "It is, actually."

Dear Merlin, what if Harry thought it was too much, too soon? What if he didn't want to wear it, or secretly hated all jewelry with a passion, or if he merely politely thanked Draco with that fake smile he had on him sometimes, the kind he used with insistent strangers, and then put the wristlet away still buried in its box, never to see the light of day again?

"Just…just a little something, as I said. A memento, really. But—but..." Draco faltered to a stop.

"But it's lovely!" Potter had torn into the wrapping and popped the box hinge wide whilst Draco had been agonizing. "Draco! I've never seen anything so—_so_."

"All right, then?" He jolted forward himself, prying his fingers off the table cloth, and extending them wide. "Harry, is it?"

"No, no…oh, that's…whoa! Look how small…Merlin, I don't even what to…"

It wasn't Draco's heart in the box; he'd already given that over to Potter long ago, but the circlet was meant to be symbolic, a little. Romantic, in a manly enough manner, and Draco desperately wished for Harry to see it that way as well. That they were meant to be, and then meant to last for a long, long while, well into the misty future. Like a circle, unbroken.

"It's beautiful. It's…too much. I—I hardly know what to say, Draco. Thank you."

"If you…ahem." Draco had to clear his parched throat by coughing. Discreetly, behind his hand, as he nodded frantically at Harry. "Maybe if you were to wear it, maybe even more often than not, then you'll remember I'm always thinking of you."

He narrowed his eyes, as the tablecloth he was returned to staring at so intently in place of rudely staring at Potter seemed abruptly fuzzy and out-of-focus. Smoke from the candle drifting by, getting in his eyes, maybe?

"Right," he added, maybe croaking a bit, but very much needing to clarify. "As I am that chap, the 'always thinking of you' sort. Harry."

When Potter looked up, somehow dragging Draco's reluctant gaze with his own, it was with the widest of giant smiles plastered all over his dear face, and his eyes? His eyes were huge and shot through with gold veins gleaming, and everything Draco wanted to instantly drown in.

"Of course I'll wear it, love. Put it on for me?"

Love? It must be that Potter's outstretched arms held the key to every marvellously wonderful, spectacularly ridiculously romantic feeling Draco could even conceive of. It was all Draco could manage, preventing himself from lurching up and lunging right across the width of the table and greedily grabbing up Potter, just so he could feel those arms closing about him. That one wrist, especially, where Harry had his gift partially clasped about, waiting only on Draco's nimble fingers to fasten the miniature catch.

"Gods yes!"

Draco's fingers trembled, but he got it on Potter anyway. And had their puddings packed up for carry away, because kissing the daylights out of Potter in a public place wouldn't allow for all the other things he rather desperately wished to do to Potter, along with the kissing.

"Come," Potter said to him, and laid back at ease upon Draco's bed, his knees drawn up. "Come on."

The metal glinted at his one joint; it sent Draco's still thudding heart into transports. He felt like a supplicant yet, times like these, when Harry lay wide open and ready for his prick. Eager as Draco was for the slip-slide of skin and the meet of mouths, for nibbling kisses, and devouring kisses, and for Draco's hands to be found digging into the bedclothes at either side of his dark head, caging Harry safe, so Draco could kiss him in every possible way.

"If I'd known," Draco panted, and closed his fist hard about his cock, aiming it. "If I'd any idea, Harry, I would have never stopped running after you, I'd have caught you and kept you and followed after you all the way—"

He was forced to stop babbling when his dick breached the tight ring of springy flesh, when he pushed on through, nice and easy, sweet as sugared plums, and felt the glove-tight grip of Harry about him.

"No!"

He was compelled to stop speaking anyway, as Harry had a shaking damp-palmed hand raised up between them, his fingertips pressed trembling against Draco's lips.

"No, no, don't," he said rapidly, his eyes wide and a little wild. "Don't say that. I would've never wanted you to, then; you'd have died for certain if you'd come over to our side. No, you did the right thing, the only thing, Draco. You loved your family with all your heart and you took care of your mates, best as they'd let you."

"_But_."

"No, don't even think it, it's over. And this is better than that, leagues beyond that, and I'll take the best care of your heart, I swear I will. You have such a great one—I'm so glad it's mine. I'm so glad mine's yours, too, Draco. Now,_come_."

Words—Draco had none.

Not a one remaining in his head, and he'd made use of so many of them to woo Harry before; his own poor ones and the better ones of others, scribbled down, and it had been all words, words, words for ages and he and Harry creepingly slow to action. Months and months, and even up till now Draco wooed Potter, every time, every chance he could. Up till...now.

Draco stared and stared, snagged by shock into frozen motionlessness, his heart stuttering deep in him.

"Draco," said Harry, and shifted a finger to touch something wet and hot suddenly dripping down Draco's slack jaw. "Draco, come. I need you."

Harry flicked it away, whatever it was, and then stuck the tip of his finger in his mouth, sucking it.

_Words_? Laughable concept!

There was nothing for it but to surrender to that siren call; his dick pulsed in Harry, begging to go deeper. Draco ramped down all at once, laying his shivering torso atop Harry's chest and hips, and jerked his hips own forward as he did, barely keeping his elbows locked and his knees from buckling, and dropping his face—his damp, crinkled-up, twisted, probably very strange face—straight into the soothing hollow Harry's neck made, under that mantled arc of black hair spread across his pillow. He groaned, so deep it hurt him, and in such a good way, and did everything he could to merge them, to make them one forever, scrabbling at Harry's bare shoulder blades and mouthing madly at that throat, the one such wondrous words had just poured out of.

"Hmm, salty." Harry licked his lips again and turned his chin to press a kiss on Draco's temple, remarkably sanguine. "Shhh," he whispered. "I've got you."

Words; no, _nothing_. Draco didn't have any in his head, excepting maybe 'Harry', and certainly none on his tongue or at his ready disposal. Not after that outburst, and then seeing it was true, and now simply feeling it was true, like a sluice-gate had opened between him and this incredibly amazing person he was fucking—he was making love to.

"More, love."

With. Making love _with_. Sobbing against and shoving his prick into the arse of so hard that the bed frame was shaking. Shaking like a leaf, it was, just as Draco was, in every limb, at cell level, and then he was always only trying his best to hug Harry tighter. Hold him nearer, and climb the fuck in.

…Words? Yeah, there were a couple. Just the two, actually.

"Love…gnhgh! _You_."

"Me—too—oh, harder, Draco! _Harder_."

It was all ridiculously romantic, really.


End file.
